Excused Absence

For those of you not following along, I'm moving. Only a couple houses down, but still. The same amount of work will be required.

Before I can move though, the new house needs a tiny bit of work. Mainly the carpets need to be cleaned and everything needs to be painted. The homeowner had a nasty cat, and their kids peeled the paint in spots, just for fun.

So that's what I'll be doing this weekend. We've got a brand new carpet cleaner and a bottle of enzyme solution. We've got a 5 gallon bucket of Behr premium paint. My new roomie and I will be up to our elbows in making the new house beautiful.

And really, I can't wait.

I never asked to move in with the roommates we have now. The wife suggested it. It was to be a win/win situation. They could get their house out of foreclosure, and I would have a live in babysitter to get my kids off the bus.

My current roommates did not keep their promises.

This house was supposed to be a good place for my kids. I was told that she wouldn't yell at or punish my children. I was told she would be around to help my kids with homework and snack in the afternoon. I was told that we would all work together on things like meals and cleaning.

The reality is:
My kids, especially DQ, get treated like second class citizens. The wife has threatened to punch my child. The husband has told her not to speak to him ever again.

Her idea of helping my kids in the afternoon is to unlock the door for them. And many days, she's forgotten to do that. I get a call from my neighbor saying Itty Bit is locked out.

They don't clean anything, especially the litter boxes for their 4 cats. I've been told everything smells like cat piss and menthol cigarettes. (I don't have a sense of smell) They left their Christmas tree up until the end of February. Hell there are still lights hanging off the house.

In the time we've been here, ONE meal has been served that I didn't cook. One time, I came home and dinner was already cooking. And even then, I had to clean up after it. I was responsible for dinner every single day except that one.

Anyone who knows me, knows I am miserable in a mess. My home has always been clean and organized. I'm slightly germ phobic. All this filth had nearly driven me crazy.

My new roomie, Mel, is awesome. She is also a single mother with 2 kids. Her oldest is autistic. We're going to call him Whip, because he is as smart as one. He is high functioning because of the love and attention she's paid to him. Her youngest is Itty Bit's best friend. We're going to call her Fire. One, because she has beautiful red hair, and two because she is a fire cracker!

Mel is Itty Bit's girl scout troop leader. She is clean and organized. At least that's what I've seen when I visit. Lets hope it stays that way.

We've pooled our resources to make a nice home. She has a vacuum, I have pots and pans. Together we're going to provide our kids a safe, clean, fun and loving home.

We both look forward to big family meals and family game night. Our home is going to be filled with music and laughter.

On a side note, I have a second date this weekend. We're going to call him Aquarius. He has long, blond hair crawling down his back. He is funny as hell. I think I scare him just a bit, but he's being brave in asking me out. We had a couple drinks at Applebee's earlier this week. And the kiss goodnight was the best one I've had in more years than I can remember. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to more of those.

So for now, I'm going to be away from the blog world. Shouldn't take me too long. And the internet is being turned at the new house Monday.

Until I get things settled, or something happens that's so extrodinary I can't wait to share....

Love   Peace   and chicken grease~!

Tell My Mama What

Another fabulous writing prompt from Mama Kat:
5 Things You Should Never Say to Your Mother

My mom is 76 years old. Be that as it may, she is still about all most of her wits. She is my favorite adult person. She is the one I turn to when I need to vent or moan about a problem.

Still, as close to being a Girlfriend as she is, there are things I would never say to her. It might be funny to see her reaction though, if I were brave and not with-in smacking distance.

1: You would not believe the amazing sex I had last night.
     I know! This one is obvious. But still. My Mom and I have been known to get tipsy on a bottle of wine together. It would be nice if I could share something good for a change.

 2: I got my tongue pierced. And then stick your tongue out to show her.
     I'm telling you this one from experience. Because, at age 26, I did just that. She was so mad she threw a 2 liter. It was at that point I decided not to tell her I got my nipple done, too.

3: Your best friend and I had a chat today about sex. She encouraged me to masturbate and wanted to know if I had toys.
     Yeah... this is a true story. My Mom's best friend and I had this exact conversation, when I was single. She has since passed away, and I want my Mom to remember her friend as not being a perv.

4: You were much nicer when you smoked.
     My Mom is one of THOSE people, when it comes to smoking. She smoked for years. She has since been a non-smoker for years. She acts like my smoking is a personal assault on her.

5: Your other daughter is a bitch!
     Some of you know, my Mom is my foster Mom. To me she will always be My Mom. She had adult children by the time she got me. My "sister" has never liked me. Or my kids. Or really anyone else that I know of. She looks down her nose at all of us. Unless she needs my Mom to fly to California to take care of her kid for three weeks.

You can play too.

When it All Works Out

You want to talk about stress? I got a quick rundown for ya.

I am a single mom with no financial or co-parenting support.
I struggle to pay my bills Every Single Week.
DQ is Bi-polar and everyday is a test of my self control not to smack her.
Between Work, Girl Scouts, Dr. appointments, Court.... I run around like headless chicken.
My roommates are absolute slobs.
Everyday it's my responsibility to feed and clean up after EVERYONE in my house.
I have to find a new home for my dog.
I can't afford a real lawyer to take The Douche to court for alimony.
The Douche CAN afford a lawyer to thwart all my court actions.
I have been advised by my Legal Aid "Attorney" to find a better place to live.

I could keep going but I think you get the point.  The important one on the list is the last one.  I won't go into detail about that one right now, except to say, if I don't move, I risk losing custody of Itty Bit. Yeah, OVER MY DEAD BODY!

Alright, so when I picked myself up off the floor, and put on my big girl pants, I found a perfect opportunity. Itty Bit's Girls Scout leader needs a new roommate because hers are moving out of state. It's a 5 bedroom house, with plenty of room for everyone. She is clean and organized. I can afford the rent/bills. The girls won't have to change schools. Perfect! Right?

Except that I couldn't save up for the first months rent. When The Douche paid his child support back in December, they took away my food stamps. Which was fine by me. Until he stopped paying it in January. Then I was screwed. They will reinstate them in April. Until then I use whats left of my paycheck to feed everyone. I pay my household bills on a week by week basis.When it's all said and done there is nothing left To Save.

I was really looking forward to my tax returns. I was golden on that alone. Until they took all $4000+ of it for a 14 year old debt. Then I was fucked again. Until The Mural came up. I was saved again at that point. Until she changed her mind. Then I was... you know. I have already signed a rental agreement for the 1st of April. That's less than a week away. I'm screwed in every way but the good one. I'm also freaking out!

I don't subscribe to organized religion. I think church is a crock of crap. But I am spiritual. I've been asking God How much more am I expected to handle before I just give up? What have I done to deserve all this? Why do my girls get punished? When is enough enough? I prayed that he would help me with my current dilemma so I can give my kids a better place to live.

Yesterday I sent DQ out to check the mail. She came back with an envelope that looked a lot like a government check. Addressed to me. Maybe child support? Ha, over HIS dead body. No, it was a remaining balance of $950 from my tax return. My debt is paid and there was some change! I nearly cried in relief. And then text my roomie-to-be to inform her!

Not only can I pay my first months rent and move out of this shit hole... But my debt is paid. So when the Human Services Department of the city hiring police officers checks my credit history, that won't be a flashing sign of "Irresponsibility"! Oh, didn't I mention I am in the application process for the police department? No? Well that's another post for another day.

Yes, every day I struggle to put one foot in front of the other. But somehow, when it really, really counts, we manage to pull through. I can only attribute this to the grace of God.

Pricing My Services

I may have mentioned that I'm a custom painter. I look forward to the rare occasions when I get to paint a mural. It doesn't happen often, but when it does I am like a giddy child.

I love to paint. I am fortunate to get paid to do it.

Recently, a client inquired about a mural in her young sons room. She wants a jungle theme. I went over and talked to her. Gave her some sketches. Drew a floor plan of the room and noted where she wanted each element.

On the main wall, with no windows or doors, she wants a complete mural, edge to edge. The wall is about 9 feet by 9 feet. Not huge, but not small either.  In another corner she wants a recreation of a funky tree I did on another mural. In yet another corner she wants a jungle tree with a monkey in it. These are the layouts I came up with.

 

Beach front view. Water and sky with cliffs.

Funky tree

My problem in doing these is how much do I charge? These are the only projects I get to price out myself. Because I run the show on these. No one else I work with can really do these. I am a fine line artistic painter. But how much is my time and talent worth?

For this mural I decided to charge what I am normally billed out at on large projects. $35.00 an hour. It's a relatively simple project, so I estimate it will take me 40 hours of painting. That works out to be $1400.00. Now that doesn't sound high to me. But what if it does to the clients? They can afford it. Just trust me on that. But just because a client is well off doesn't mean they are going to be okay with your price.

On the other hand...

There is another VERY GOOD mural painter in our area. His work is all over the city. He recently did a 9x9 foot mural and charged $12,000.00 for it. Yes twelve thousand! I could never see charging that much to paint a wall. I wouldn't be so high on myself to think my talent is worth that. It's exorbitant as far as I'm concerned. But his work is EVERYWHERE. So other people don't think it's too high, obviously.

Whats the middle ground? What is a fair price that a private home owner might be willing to pay? Help me out here please!

 

The tree she wants duplicated. 

UPDATE:

Before I could even get this up and ready to comment on, the client changed her mind. Or her son did rather. He now wants fat head cars. Whatever the hell those are. They are ordering some kind of sticker to put on the wall. Seriously bummed now.

Spaz

I have a coffee cup. It's green and a little large. It's my favorite cup. It was a gift. It has paw prints on the inside...and on the outside it says: Some of the best conversations I have are with my cat.

It's my favorite cup because the words are so true. Well, that and it holds more coffee than the average cup.

Spaz was originally a birthday gift for The Douche. A tiny feral kitten covered in flees when we got her. A black furry ball of terror, she was. I had to hand tame her. She was from a long line of feral farm cats and her natural instinct was to run away. I worked with her for months before she settled into being a house kitten.

When she first came to us, I had no choice but to bathe her in our kitchen sink with Dawn every other day because she had flees. She was too young for the drops. And boy did she hate that. She was good at throwing the kitty scowl face at me, in case I didn't know, cats don't like to be bathed in kitchen sinks.

Spaz got her name because of her odd behavior. She would tear ass around the house, going up and around the top of the couch, bounding off walls. We called it The Kitty 500. She once got a hold of a snake skin my daughter got from the aquarium. She had that thing under our couch and actually growled at anyone who dared take her “kill”.

One thing that sets Spaz apart from most other cats I've seen is her talkativeness. She will follow me around the house, talking up a storm. I answer her back. How could I not? She “speaks” with different tones and inflections. She is so good at it, I can usually understand what she has to say.

In the morning when I am tooling around my bedroom getting ready for work, she has a lot to say. Spaz will walk the edge of the bed, following me as I move around the room, talking, talking, talking. In the mornings I swear she is saying “mom”. Usually she wants her kitty treats. And when she is done, she is back on the bed until I stand still to listen to her. She will walk her front paws up my stomach and reach for me. I have to bend down so we can butt heads. This is her way of saying thank you.

When I settle in bed for the evening, we have some quality time together. She will climb in my lap and purr and rub her face on mine. This is “I missed you. I thought you'd never get home.”

If I am up late on the computer, she has no qualms about bithcin' at me. She will stand next to my chair, and meow sweetly, putting her paw on my leg to ensure she has my attention. This is “Mom, it's past our bedtime. I'm tired. Come on.”

When we sleep, she has to be touching me, somehow. If she's not on top of me, she is curled in behind my knees. She is all about a nap. When I want to lay down during the day, she thinks it's great. And the best part is she snores. Loudly! It's hilarious.

God forbid, if she runs out of food before I get up. She feels like it's her duty to wake me so that I can fill her bowl. This usually happens around the 4 am hour. And she won't take no for an answer. I can toss her off my bed 10 times and she comes right back. Putting her paw on my face. Sniffing my nose. Climbing on my head.

When I am sick, or depressed, she is my shadow. Never leaving me for more than a few minutes. Curled up with me. Talking me off the ledge. Giving me little kitty kisses. Somehow I know this cat loves me. She and I can take on the world together. Or... at least talk about doing it.

I am Not Irish

Mama Kat gave us this writing prompt: Something You Ate...

Well, being the rebel that I am, I'm going to say something I cooked, and THEN ate... like a pig!

I like food. I don't particularly like to cook it but I don't mind eating it at all. Especially when it comes to some of my favorites. A good pasta. A rare steak. Nachos...

One of my favorites is Corned Beef. And I just love March for the fact that Corned Beef usually goes on sale. This year I damn near forgot. It was the day before St. Patrick's when the girls and I were in the store looking for dinner. This family came in decked out in green. They'd been to the parade, which I missed due to a previous engagement. (scowl)

When I saw them I rushed over to the beef section and scooped up the last corned beef. I almost missed out on it this year. 

I am not Irish. But I cook like one when it comes to this. Mine is better than a friend of ours who is straight off the boat from Ireland.

A good corned beef is pretty simple to make. I skip the cabbage, because none of us really like it, and I don't want to encourage THAT kind of gas. Here is a winner for ya.

@ 2.5 lb brisket

Couple of thick onion slices

2 bay leaves

Palm full each of salt and pepper

Baby red potatoes

Carrots

And the most important ingredient, 6 pack of BEER

Brisket, onion, bay leaves, salt and pepper go in the pot. Add 50/50 beer water until brisket is cover and or floating. I emptied two bottles of beer and added two bottles of water.

Cover and let simmer on low 6 hours

Add red potatoes to fill the excess room in the pot.

Drink the other 4 beers. Maybe you'll get a nice buzz and forget that you're cooking corned beef. Maybe it will keep you from taste testing the corned beef ahead of time. Just a theory.

Continue cooking on low another 2 hours.

At the 8 hour mark, remove the meat and potatoes from the pot. Slather REAL butter on beef and cover with foil to stand.

Add peeled chopped carrots to broth/water/beer. Bring to slow boil and cook 20 mins. If your potatoes get cold in that time, you can dip them back in the water when the carrots have cooked.

All done!

For my family, what takes more than 8 hours to cook, only takes 15 minutes to devour. It takes longer to clean up than it does to eat this meal. There aren't even any left overs.

But damn is it soooo worth it.

Now go play with Mama Kat. She likes it... trust me.

More POF Fun

 

Morbid curiosity led to me switching up my search criteria. I went on POF as a male looking for a female between 34 and 44. If you're ever feeling low, I highly recommend this. My self-esteem went through the roof.

First glance is the profile pictures. To our cores, we are all visual people. We want to see what people look like. And the options for the men in my age group aren't very pleasant. Aside from big or small and other things we have no immediate control over.... Well, I lean towards thinking that if you're extremely overweight, you probably don't have much self esteem. But I can look past that.

You've got the women with a ton of make-up and those with none. Some look like drag queens. Some have had so much plastic surgery it's comical. You've got the ones with huge fake boobs. I feel sorry for them. That was a trend in the 90's that's fallen out of favor. Unfortunately, they are stuck with those silicone bags. The girls who can't be bothered to put a bra on who haven't had a boob job. At our age ladies, it's sad. I'd say less than 10% are normal good lookin ladies.

Past the first profile images are the headlines:

Don't try and run game on me.

Rescue me

Do I crank your tractor?

Looking for the BASS of my dreams

Lets move on. Again, reading profiles is hilarious. There are numerous girls stating they are not looking for intimate encounters. They are good Christian woman and want to be respected. But when you look at their other photos, they tell a different story. Back to the camera, hands on a wall, poppin' their ass out, looking over their shoulder. Trying for the sex kitten look. Oh yeah! Nothing screams self respect like “Check out my ass”

Some are very jaded. I suppose they've been on POF too long and run across some real assholes. But really girls? You knew you would be dealing with a wide pool of men. Many of which are dogs. What else did you expect? They go on and on about the things they won't tolerate. And if you are blah blah blah, move on. What they are really doing is telling the potential good guy: high maintenance, and bitchy.

I'm baffled that they can't weed through the crap and ignore it. They respond to the bad apples in their profiles, turning everyone else off in the process. Guys want to read about you. The things you like to do, and what makes you happy. What you are generally looking for. They don't want to read about all the bad experiences you've had with other POFers.

I especially liked the one where the lady says she loves to cook and clean. “That's right guys, I love being domestic and taking care of my man” or some such shit. What I read is desperate.

I should be a profile and/or lifestyle coach. These women have no clue, and then wonder why they can't get a date.

On the other hand, I'm debating how sad it makes me, that I am lumped in there with them, seeking a date. Something to ponder. But not now... I've got messages to check and cute boys to look at.

Here's my profile. What can you read between the lines?

I am the good kind of crazy. Moderately tattooed, mildly pierced, mother of two. I'm an artistic painter by day and for my hobby. Music is the background to my life. The last 3 show I went to were, Halestorm, Framing Hanley and 100 Monkeys. I'm looking forward to seeing Volbeat at the Luau.

I have a raunchy sense of humor, which I usually keep to myself, unless I know you well. I am loud, open and very social. I like to go out with friends for drinks or coffee. I love movies, but hate slapstick. I also enjoy comedy shows. I think Bill Maher is a genius. Ricky Gervais makes me laugh til I cry.

Music interests vary depending on my mood. I stray more towards hard rock. Godsmack, 5FDP, Disturbed, and Pantera top my list. I'm recently in love with Volbeat and Halestorm. When I'm cleaning, you might catch me dancing around to hip hop. On a rare occasion I'll indulge my youngest in her love for country and girl bands. I dig going out to see live local bands.

I'm allergic to the sun, so I can't do the "outdoorsy" thing with you. Don't let that stop you from doing it without me. In fact, I feel like a good relationship involves doing somethings without your mate. It's important to me that you have other friends and interests.

I am currently in the application process for the Ches. Police Dept. This is my plan for the future. If you're into getting high on the weekend, I'm not the one for you!

Yes, I am separated, with absolutely no chance of reconcile. We've been separated for more than 3 years. I have custody of my 2 girls, and they are my priority. But I do have some time to invest in a good relationship. I would love to find “the one”. Someone to take on the world with. Someone to grow old with. I have a lot of love and passion for the right man.

Randomness:

When I sing, I sound like someone is killing a cow. I don't care, I do it anyway.

There is more coffee in my veins than blood.

Clutter makes me insane!

I am the most coordinated, rhythmic, white girl you'll ever meet... on the dance floor. Otherwise I'm a klutz.

POF makes me think Pound of Flesh. Is that just me?

Random Thoughts

Why can't I ever write a short blog post? Aside from random thoughts and the like, I can't limit my bitchin' at all. I'm convinced you guys need/want all the details.

The POFer seeking a 1950's Submissive Housewife wants to meet me. I'm positive there is absolutely nothing in my profile that would indicate I might be interested in getting to know someone like him. I'm laughing hysterically about this one.

I've decided I hate cookie booths. Standing around for two hours is boring. Do you know how much crap I can get done in two freakin' hours? Thank God we are on our last week!!!

I miss playing with Legos. I have always loved those little plastic, sharp edged blocks. Except when I step on one. Then they suck. But otherwise they are all together awesome!

I just found out Anderson Cooper is gay. I never had a clue.

On a final note, I'd like to encourage everyone to read this post at Late Enough: Friends Don't Let Friends Rape  It is not happy or funny, but it IS important. 

In case you missed it, I bitched about:

My Gun

My Dates

My Ex 

 

Bam is Confused

I must apologize in advance for the poor grammar, spelling and writing structure of this post. I only changed Bam's text to remove my child's name and put DQ in it's place.

As previously stated, I had no problems getting over Bam. The way he dropped me spoke volumes about his character. Keeping in mind that he broke up with me, I'll share the message I got from him last week.

Well since you obviously don't get it and lost complete interest in me and already looking for someone else, Don't count on me being your second chance if your next partner doesn't work, You really want to know why I broke up with you, you have no respect, 2 fuckin weeks and you are already looking, good luck to you and consider this goodbye forever!

I responded with a simple message:

Who said I was dating. And why should it matter to you? You didn't want me, remember? And you will see me again. I've got your DC hoodie and a ring that you want back.

The next day I found this in my email:

You're right, you don't matter to me "now", The way you acted, you being all loud and critical about Debbie's church and shit when we were just trying to help your daughter. We tried our best to help you, you expected your daughter who's so smitten with some boy to just wait one week, to just stop contact, just like that. You don't know what love is. Which is why you are so quick to look for another guy. I could tell with her in the room that she was really in love with the guy even though it was stupid love, just like I with you. She gave you good advice but you put a stupid one week test out there? You knew DQ was going to break that. Anyone who's in love would break your stupid fucking one week test. And I told you when I gave you that second chance that you are going to have to help me rebuild my trust in you. You not only ignored that but made it worse with your selfish attitude and some of your wreckless decisions to do with DQ. I tried so fucking hard to be nice to you but you keep testing my nerve, well now you tweaked it with not respecting what we had, not even 2 weeks and you are trying to date, absolutely no respect for what we had which probably didn't mean shit to you since you are back on the block getting your fuck on. And to think I was going to wait for you? Damn, I was stupid. Atleast I can say from my end that breaking things off with you was a damn good decision. Thanks for using me and wasting my time. I see now why there are some people who dislike you. Keep the hoody and ring, I do not want to see or hear from you ever again. God help you and your fucked up ways.

I was a little steamed when I read this. I resisted the urge to respond though. This relationship is over. No need to go back and forth. Besides, it sounds as though he's got some twisted ideas about me. Whats the point of trying to change his mind when I really don't care what his opinion is?

For the record, his friend Debbie told me her church was non-denominational. In reality it was an extreme evangelical “church” They scared the hell out of DQ. Speaking in tongues and falling on the floor and shit. I was pissed when I got her back that night!!!

DQ broke every household rule when she found this boy. She's not allowed to date. She's not allowed to have simulated internet sex. She needs to focus on herself and the mess she's in. But then Bam is not a parent, so he wouldn't understand the things we'll do to keep our kids safe. Being that he is a child himself, I guess he would take DQ's side.

Bam didn't give me a second chance. It was a lot closer to the other way around. I tried to tell him I couldn't devote the time he required of a girlfriend. He said he would take what he could get.

I ain't getting my fuck on. I'd like to, but ultimately, I'm not a whore.

And on a final note, YAY! I get to keep the hoodie. I love this fuckin' thing. And the ring, a tungsten carbide black band. I've got no problems keeping that either. It matches the original black band I had that I gave to DQ when I got the new one. We have matching rings. That's what I see when I look at it. It doesn't remind me of Bam.

So for you Bam... YOU can fuck off and get bent!

Foxy Friday: POF Edition

I am having too much fun on this dating site. Really! Someone needs to stop me.  I've run across some real hotties. Man if I were more whorish, I would be in BIG trouble.

For now I want to share in the yummy. First up on the list is:

The Player

We were talking a lot. I gave him my number so we could text back and forth. Things were going great. He asked me if I'd be interested in a couples massage. Hells Yes! But when I asked him where, he said "My house or Yours." I am nothing if not honest. I told him I wasn't comfortable with that, having not even met yet. I never heard from him again.

The Bad Boy

With a great smile

You guys could probably peg me for liking this type. His profile is snarky and quick witted. We've been talking a little. We'll see where that goes.

And last in the line up, for today anyway is:

The Cop

He looks like a cross between Sully Erna (Godsmack) and Gerard Butler Don't ya think?

Believe it or not, The Cop is the one I actually went out with. We talked for hours over coffee, where he poked fun at how short I am. Our second date was spent in an arcade where I whooped his butt at air hockey and he helped/distracted me at pinball. It ended with us making out like teenagers up against Centipede. If I was a dirty dirty whore, I would have so gone home with him.

A Girl and Her Gun

Let me preface by saying, this has NOTHING do to with the current gun debate in our country. I am a gun carrying Democrat. No, I don't think they are going to outlaw my right to bare arms. They may restrict who can own a fully automatic weapon. I'm ok with that.

No, this is about the fact that I open carry a Glock 34.

When I first got my restraining order, I couldn't sleep. I was in a constant state of panic. I was waiting for the bomb to go off. I took the class for the carry/conceal permit. In doing so I learned that it's perfectly acceptable, as a law abiding adult, to open carry a side arm in my state. And so.... that's just what I did.

I originally wanted a .22, because of it's size and controlability. My friend, who also open carries, explained that a crazy person could take a couple rounds from a .22 and keep coming. I thought he had an excellent point. So I went with the 9 mm. Enough to blow a hole in someones ass, but not enough to knock me on mine, which kind of defeats the purpose of self defense.

I am a good shot. Back in MI, I used to shoot skeet. Even my first time, I didn't miss any of the moving clay targets with the 12 gauge shot gun. I do get fussed at for not using my sights. I sight down the barrel because I have a better success ratio that way. I hit my target center mass, no problem. And if I really try hard, and the paper isn't moving, I can make a head shot, by lining up the barrel.

I understand the extreme dangers of having a gun in my home. I'm a scatterbrain when it comes to most areas of my life. One thing I am fully aware of at all times is my weapon.

I get a mixed bag of reactions when I open carry in public. Oddly enough, it's usually men who comment on it. And who knew men were so stupid?

As I'm standing at the coffee counter in my painter clothes, they whisper to each other, “She must be an undercover.” I get a little giggle at these sorts of comments. They are the type I get most. I always want to ask if they are naturally so dumb. If I was undercover, why would I have my service weapon on my hip? “Are you a cop?” “Nope, I'm a painter.” I thought that was obvious by my attire. Silly me.

The guy in Target: “Oh no! She's got a gun. Don't hurt me ma'am.” As he jumped back and and waved his hands in the air, the universal sign for “I mean no harm.”

Me: “Don't be stupid.”

He was trying to be funny. I really wanted to say, “Oh no! A black man. Please don't rob me.”, because that's exactly how moronic his comment sounded to me.

My corner 7-11 has a mini precinct in it. Yeah, I live in a bad neighborhood. I'm poor remember? There are always a number of police officers in there on any given day. When I first started to carry, I thought I would get some harassment out of the police for it. Boy was I wrong. One of them actually walked up to me and said, “I wish everyone would exercise that right.”

Since I frequent that 7-11 to supplement my coffee addiction, they know me pretty well there. My favorite clerk told me that the cops talk about me a lot and think it's pretty awesome I am so proactive in my own defense.

I did have an adverse reaction from a woman, standing behind me in line.

Lady: Is that thing real?

Me: Yes ma'am. (In my head: No, it's a freaking water gun.)

Lady: Can I ask why?

Me: Because I have a crazy ex-husband and the piece of paper the protective order is written on won't do me much good if he sneaks up on me.

She took an exaggerated step back. Oh well. She should feel blessed she doesn't have to stress about those sorts of issues.

My mom, bless her heart, went a little nuts when she learned about it. We didn't speak for a week. Opting instead to express our opinions in email. She was convinced I'd shoot myself or one of my kids. She had no interest in hearing that I know what I'm doing. I ended the conflict by explaining that I would respect her by not bringing it into her home, and she should respect my right to have it in the first place.

Before “dating” Bam I explained that I carry a gun, and that if he had a problem with it, he should let me know now. Though he said he was Okay with it, it turns out he wasn't. I told him politely to fuck off. Repeatedly.

A large guy once asked me, “Whats a little girl like you need such a big gun for?” My reply? “I think you just answered your own question.”

The judge wrote out in our custody and visitation order that my weapon should be secured with a trigger lock. And that my minor child should not be allowed to handle it unsupervised. That is so ridiculous that I can't even muster a response. I will say that I am not one of those parents who lets a 9 year old fire a gun.

The Glock is currently separated from it's clip. The two pieces are locked away in different locations. With all that's going on with DQ, I felt it best to take a break from carrying it. Her safety is more important than my feeling safe.

If Its Yellow Random Goodness

You know what an oxymoron is, right? Jumbo Shrimp..ha ha ha. Well I have a new one for you:

Loading your groceries, packed nicely in your reusable shopping bags, into the back of your new, shiny black Suburban. But hey, the leather seats and wood grain interior make it all worth it, right?

I came across this post http://imgonnakillhim.com/uncategorized/show-video/ and I am now demanding you all go check out this blog. The writer is actually a comedian. And we all know I could use a little funny in my life.

Every Single Morning, my roomie uses the entire tank of hot water. I think we all know what he's doing in there. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that his wife won't screw him.

Why in the hell do most of my matches on POF look like gang bangers and Yo boys? Seriously, you're 35 damn years old. Pull up your pants and fix your hat. Just because I have tattoos doesn't mean I'm a street thug. Hello.... tattoos are one of my interests because you should know what your in for BEFORE you message me.

Bam keeps messaging and emailing me. He hopes I'm working on my depression. It's really starting to get on my nerves. To this I say, I didn't allow myself to be all emo when we broke up, so I think I'm doing fine, thanks.

I had an entire weekend to myself. Itty Bit was with The Douche and DQ went to my moms. I did some laundry, delivered some G.S. Cookies and I slept for 10 hours Saturday night. I am such a party girl!

I get the “If it's yellow let it mellow...” way of thinking. You are going to save water, and thus the planet, by not flushing the toilet after you pee. Thank you for not doing the same when you take a crap. But for the love of God, could you maybe divert from this practice while I'm working in your house. Because there is no way in hell I am going to use your toilet while your urine/toilet paper is in the bowl. I am flushing your toilet before I pee, and then again after. 

If you want to play too, head over to Stacy Uncorked. She's the go to girl for RTT these days. 

Pound Of Flesh

I started a little adventure. To all the “not single” peeps out there, count your blessings. I opened a profile on POF.com. Hey! Don't judge, I'm lonely.

It took me about .03 seconds to get over Bam, Man child that he was. I am not one to lament a relationship that was never meant to be. He did show me that I like dating, and sharing my life with someone else. Who knew?

I'm not convinced online dating is where it's at, though. Still I am addicted to it. My phone constantly alerts me to new messages. The first couple of days were kind of insane. I'm not one to be distracted by such things while I'm at work. This leaves me anxious to get home and check my messages. I really should get over it, because most of whats in there is not good.

POF offers a chemistry and personality test to better match you to your soul mate. HA fuckin HA. This is who they think is my # 1?

Seriously? This guy?

All I can say is: You must be out yo motha fuckin mind!

I moved on down the list, mumbling, “No...no...no...Woof...no...Hell no! Oh, now he's cute.” Click on the profile to see he only wants a fuck buddy. NEXT!

I'm not above saying there must be some physical attraction. I don't want to spend the rest of my life thinking “Damn, you're ugly” about my mate. Also, why would you not put your best face forward in your profile picture. You've got the rednecks holding up guns or dead deer. And then there is the yo-boys throwing up gang signs. W.T.F?

Reading profiles is an exercise in laugh therapy most of the time. I do it anyway. Maybe it's my cynical side that lets me read between the lines.

“I'm very loyal.” I'll be stuck up your ass because I have no other friends.

“Not into drama or games.” My wife took me for everything I had.

“I'm very laid back.” I would prefer if you cook and clean while I sit on the couch watching TV.

“I think I have a great sense of humor.” I'll likely make fun of you when we hang out with my friends so they think I'm cool.

“looking for fun, easy going woman.” I'd like to get laid as soon as possible, so I'm hoping this happens quick.

Here are a few of my other favorites:

“No more probation for me.” This left me shaking my head.

“Prove to me your the one.” I'd rather show him how to spell “you're”.

“Lookin 4 a woman I can chill & get 2 know.” Really? I'm “lookin” for a man who doesn't use numbers in place of words. And you want to chill me? Are you a serial killer?

But the award goes to: Seeking 1950's Housewife

I’m asexual. I have mental issues with sex. I also have a physical condition that affects sex for me. Due to these three things it will take a very special and very caring type of woman to be with me and to be able to find happiness with me. I will explain it all if you care. Just don’t ask out of general curiosity and waste my time please. I will tell you this up front though. I can and do have sex. But if you like to be satisfied and enjoy sex, you wouldn’t be happy with a guy like me. If your old fashion, submissive, have issues with sex that makes you not enjoy it, etc. and want a man that is very loving, caring, and shows you in all the little ways how much he appreciates you… Then maybe you would be.

If your not old fashion and submissive like a 1950’s housewife, don’t bother replying. If you enjoy sex, don’t bother replying. I thought I was pretty clear in my profile before. But I still keep getting reply’s saying they are interested… But they aren’t old fashion, not submissive, and they enjoy sex. Well great… You’re the exact opposite of what I’m looking for. And you thought I’d be interested why? Please don’t waste both our times. I’m a very loving and caring man that stays home and treat his woman with all the love and affection they deserve. But I do know what I want, and what I need. And I’m not going to change.

Asexual… Doesn’t create the hormones or chemical release that most people release upon finishing so they don’t orgasm or enjoy sex like most people.

Old fashion… Look up 1950’s housewife “Good Housekeeping.”

Submissive… Religious cultures such as Penicostle, Mennonite, Amish
Asian cultures
1950’s type American woman

Doesn’t enjoy sex… Doesn’t moan, thrust, react, respond, participate, finish or release.
Proper woman, Lady like woman, Puritan woman.

I laughed so hard at this one, DQ asked me what was wrong.

Oh, nothing. Just read something really funny on the internet.

Hey Whatyerface

Things you'd say to people if you thought it would make a difference.

Dear Vitamin Water,

Putting the Fruit Punch flavor in the Mega pack of Vitamin Water I get from BJ's is NOT going to make it any more palatable to me. And seeing as I can't give this shit these bottles away, I think everyone else agrees.

Thank you.

The Triple X Junkie

Dear The Douche,

You didn't get anything for Itty Bit's birthday last year. Are you planning on a repeat this year? I'm pretty sure she's going to notice. And FYI, no, a new baby sister does NOT count!

Also, I appreciate your inability to pay your last 6 installments of child support. Really I do. Because I was so looking forward to applying for food stamps again. I missed people looking at me like I'm lazy white trash because I'm paying for our food with their tax dollars.

Regards,

Your Gun toting ex-wife

Dear Bam,

You asked me to communicate better with you, and I made an effort. When I broke down and showed you my raw emotions, bared my soul to you, showed weakness, you dropped me like a lead balloon. You showed me, I was right to keep these things to myself in the first place. So... thanks for that.

Love,

Happily Single Missy

Dear Free Will Baptist Church,

The “FWB” acronym on the back of your church van did not inspire very Christian thoughts at all. It did inspire me to laugh my ass off and then want to hook up with the neighborhood hottie, who I may or may not watch while he walks his dog.

Sincerely,

The Twisted drive behind you

Dear Self,

You're dealing with a lot right now. Kudos for not having a nervous breakdown. We think you need a vacation. You're not going to get one. We just wanted to point out that you deserve one.

Fond Regards,

Your other personalities.

Rise! Again and Again

Mama Kat is giving me $500.00 to spend on only one thing? I knew I liked this broad!

So...$500 bucks, eh? Do I have to tell anyone I have this money? I'd like to say I would pay off a bill, or buy a new couch, (my roomie's cats trashed mine) or donate it to charity. Buuuut let's face it, I am the poor right now, so, no. My kids don't really need anything, part of the reason I am so broke.

I have been sacrificing for years now, and going without. It's time Momma did a little something for herself. If I had 500 bucks to use on only one thing, I couldn't think of anything better than getting this tattoo.

It will span my entire upper arm, from shoulder to elbow. It will also look great with the less than awesome tattoo I have on my forearm. And is it just a coincidence that $500 is about what I estimate this tattoo will cost?

All of my tattoos have a special meaning to me. I drew every piece I'm wearing. I'm especially fond of the “dream” tattoo. I was not allowed to get anymore tattoos, per The Douche. When I told him I wanted a divorce, I drew that up. When the convention came to town, I went and had it done. Sort of a “Fuck you very much” cuz now I'm dreaming of a life without you.

The phoenix is exactly what you think it is. The representation of me coming up out of the ashes. Surviving the fight to fly another day. I want it to be bright and bold. I want it to scream, 'You can't keep me down!'

In other news; Any Girl Scout Moms out there? You don't want to miss this: The Joys of Cookie Season

You can participate in Mama Kat's writers workshop too. Just pop over there and get the low down. Don't tell her I sent you though. She might not let you in.

  

Facebook Frenzy

Lets talk about social media for a few, m'kay? Myspace was great for it's time. You could find people -- read: stalk your ex. Decorate your page and discover new music. But it was lacking, and at the time we didn't even know it. In order to keep up with what your friends were doing, you had to actually go to their page.

Enter Twitter. Via 140 characters you could update your followers instantly. And every single tweet reached your time line. We were now in the know.

And then Facebook took over the world. It was a little slow to start but today, it is THE powerhouse of social media. And for good reason. Mr. Mark Z. is a genius because he realized we are nosy but lazy humans with short attention spans. He was able to meet our needs.
 
There are a couple of things I would like to bring to everyone's attention though.

My religious friends.
I'm so glad you found Jesus. Really I am. Sorry it took you so long. Maybe it's because your a late bloomer that you just can't shut up about it. Even when you limit your “Jesus is Lord” postings to every other day, it means I get roughly 180 of these things every year. It sounds a lot like your telling me that I'm less of a good little human.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a very spiritual. I don't subscribe to organized religion. But let's face it; I should be dead. No one will convince me there's no Higher Power lookin' out for me. Do I think he gave you the love of your life? No. He did, however, give you freewill. Please use some of it to limit your postings. Because it sounds like you drank the Kool-aid.

My political friends.
We get it. You're passionate about politics. Maybe you should get a job with the local paper to write op-eds. Facebook, however, is not the place.

I don't tell you how gullible you are for believing the Dems are gonna take away your right to hunt and defend your home. So stop telling me how stupid I am for believing in change.

If we could all limit our postings to verified fact, the world would be a much nicer place. You're feeding the fear and hate machines when you “share” propaganda.

My chronic junk friends.
All you have to share are pre-made “e-card funnies”, inspirational poems that you didn't write, chain-mail quotes, memes and so on. I'm beginning to think you don't have a life or an original thought in your head.

I friended you because I was genuinely interested in your life. Share the pictures of your kids and/or your pets. Tell me how much fun you had on your girls night out. And I'll sympathize when you're having a bad day. I promise.

And I don't even know how to address this:

Ya know what fucks with me...people greetin me at a bar that i was so drunk i met
.they rember me..i have no clue who they are..gotta act like i know ...not thier fault...mine..but gotta entertain it...lol

What is that? Drunk posting? Okay, I get that this happens on occasion. We all do dumb stuff. But when you get up the next day and see this shit, just delete it. You look like a moron. Unless...are you actually a moron? Cuz if that's the case, message me so I can “un-friend” you!

And now, for the things I would post if I knew my Mother wouldn't smack me.

Feel free to steal these and use as you see fit.

On a final note... how come I never see any of these?

I think I left a blow job at your house. Mind if I come by and get it?

I'm considering today a major accomplishment, since I didn't duck tape any kids to the wall.

Now would be the perfect time to find out where you stand on the abortion issue.

I wish I had a job where I could punch stupid motherfucker in the face all day.

I hope your mid-term is as easy as you are.

Having a vagina doesn't stop me from thinking my balls are bigger than yours.

I think we should see other people until I am absolutely sure I can't do any better than you.

That new outfit would go great with a new personality. Didn't you get one of those too?

Dad, the time we spent together when I was a kid is making my therapist rich.

I'd tell you to go fuck yourself, but you'd probably delegate that to me, too.

Sadly, I switched to Herbal Essence and discovered I don't have a g-spot anywhere on my head.

Relationships are like yard sales: They look good from a distance, but up close it's just a bunch of shit you don't need.

Girls, there is a fine line between wearing make-up and looking like you got gang banged by Crayola.

What do women and tornadoes have in common? They both scream when the come and take your house when they leave.

I got you some toothpaste for your birthday, cuz your breath always smells like weed and hooker snatch.

Sorry to point this out, but you're too fat to wear that.

Did it hurt when you fell out of the whore tree and banged every guy on the way down?

I'm diagnosing you with a case of being a whiny bitch, and prescribing you a dose of man the fuck up.

It's not premarital sex if you never get married.

Instead of Facebook asking “What's on your mind?” it should say, “What's your fucking problem now?”

The Joys of Cookie Season

Let me begin by saying, Girl Scouts is good for Itty Bit. So for now we will continue with the activity.

But... I would like to lodge a complaint with the powers that be over in Girl Scout Land. Hopefully you read my blog and will pay attention, note, and take action on this point.

We are once again in the throes of cookie season. Anybody want some crack? That's what it's come to for me to be a supportive parent for Itty Bit. Pedaling crack in the form of girl scout cookies. I actually started the pre-sale season by telling/texting people that I was the corner cookie dealer, I had the goods, and how much could I put them down for.

Moving on to cookie booths. That magical time of year where we stand in the path to your desired destination with our table full of crack cookies. Our girls are pros at batting their eyelashes and chiming, in unison mind you, to inquire if you'd like to buy some. I'm telling you, if drug lords used girl scouts instead of gang bangers, their net profits would skyrocket.

I've no problem letting my adorable daughter badger you into supporting her troop. I've no problem devoting god knows how many weekends to standing with her while she sweetly talks you out of your money. I'm so supportive in this endeavor that I made the sign for our table.

My problem is this: The time of year we are designated to work our cookie booths. If you were wondering, we start our postings at the end of February. You may not have noticed, because you were bundled up tight trying to keep the wind out, that it's fucking cold! Let me assure you, we notice. We stand outside for at least 2 hours at a time, with frozen smiles on our faces. When no one's looking we are lamenting about how freaking cold it is. I should note, again, in case you didn't notice, most of our booths are outdoors. Troop leaders fight for the primo locations where the stores actually allow us to set up inside.

When I inquired about this the answer I got did not make me feel any better. Apparently, cookie booths are held in the winter, so the cookies don't melt. My reply, “So you're telling me, the cookies are more important than the girls?” Because in reality, the girls (and their moms) freeze their tales off so that the cookies are in good condition.

If you're looking for me this weekend, I'll be at Game Stop Fri. night, 7-11 around noon on Sat. and in front of Big Lots Sunday afternoon.

The Rules of Life

Recently, while contemplating DQ's set of rules, I had an aha moment. Are you ready? Because I am about to impart on you a valuable piece of wisdom.

We All Need Rules.

Some of us need them less than others, but they are still posted for our consideration.

Some of DQ's rules are for her own safety, health and well being.

You may not access the internet without direct adult supervision.

You must shower every other day, AND wash your hair.

You may not watch violent or sexually explicit television.

These things kind of seem like common sense to me, but apparently she needs them laid out for her in black and white.

And when we stop to look at the world around us, we see that as adults, SOME of us need seemingly simple things explained to us, too.

The Bleach Bottle: Keep out of reach of children.

Why, as an adult, do you need to be told this? You couldn't figure out that children should not have access to a poisonous and corrosive chemical?

The Cup of Coffee: Caution HOT

Fuckin' DUH!!! If it were served at room temperature you'd be upset. Some people are never satisfied.

The 5 Gallon Paint Bucket: Drowning risk.

Admittedly, that would not have been my first thought. My twisted brain would not leave a bucket filled with anything where a child could knock it over and spill that shit all over my floor!

Machines: Moving parts. Keep body and clothing clear to avoid injury.

If you are so stupid that you decide to mess around with a running machine, maybe you deserve to loose a finger. When Douche lost the tip of his to a router, I felt sorry for him, but still told him he was a dumb ass.

Poisonous Substances: Harmful if swallowed.

Really? Were you considering eating the silicate packet that came with your shoes until you read that it would be unhealthy?

The Plastic Bag: Risk of suffocation

Is there anyone out there who thinks you can breathe while covering your air holes with a non-porous material?

We need to be told... how fast to drive our cars death machines, not to leave our tampons in more than 8 hours, how to safely operate our lawn mowers, not to drink while taking sedatives, that an erection lasting more than 4 hours is dangerous, that some TV programs may not be suitable for our children, not to bring our guns into a courthouse... Shall I continue? (scrolls up to see how long post is.)

I think you get my point. Wait! What was my point again? I got off to rambling again. Oh yes, We all need rules. Because apparently we are all morons!

The Week of Hell

The good news is my Mom is back from Cali. She's been on the other side of the country for a month. And I really missed her. So, so glad to have her home!

Did I mention the night I got home from committing my child to the looney bin there was a letter from the IRS. Seems they diverted all of my $3000 refund to pay off a 14 year old student loan. Mind you the “school” I went to was not accredited and none of the classes I took were transferable to another school. They didn't tell me that when I signed up. DAMN I really needed that money!

Earlier this week DQ's prognosis was grim. The doctors could identify the behavior, but couldn't explain why she was doing it. It felt like they were going to give her back to me with no help. “Yep, your kids fucked up. Not much we can do. Here ya go.”, as they push her out the door towards me.

Later, they called to ask if they could put her on Abilify. Seems they were ready to agree with her previous diagnosis of bi-polar. They explained that the Prozak was only bringing her up from her low but there was nothing keeping her from going manic. They explained that Abilify will help to keep her in the middle. And unlike anti-depressants, this mood stabilizer would begin to work quickly. That we would see a change within a couple of days. I easily agreed to the meds.

I'm not expecting her to come out of the hospital “all better.” I'd be confused if she did. All I ask for is some direction. A plan of action. Some hope. Bi-polar, with meds and intensive therapy, can be managed. I can work with that!

My mom and I went to visit her Thursday night. She was upset because some boy made her cry when she tried to tell him he reminded her of the love of her life. He, being another patient, didn't really give a shit. For my part, I don't think DQ has time to obsess about some boy. She's 14, in my house she isn't even old enough to date. DQ had no interest in talking about anything other than this boy. I pointed out that she needs to see the severity of the situation she is in right now. She needs to stop worrying about the boy and start working on herself.

Me: DQ, do you understand you are currently locked in a psychiatric hospital right now? You have bigger problems than some boy you're obsessed with.

DQ: I'm done with this visitation. (as she sits staring at me with her little eyebrow arched)

Me: Alright. I love you.

I got up and put my chair away, then me and my mom left. We had been there less than 15 minutes of a one hour visitation. I wanted to show her: 1) be careful what you ask for, you just might get it. And 2) Mom is not going to be bullied into anything.

I cried the entire way home. My mom, for her part, is very sympathetic. Her older sister is diagnosed severe bi-polar. She understands the battle I'm in for.

Turns out I was right when I broke up with Bam the last time. I sited not being able to be a fully engaged girlfriend. That with all the shit going on, I didn't have the energy to keep up with dating someone. I also explained that I would never get married or have any more children. I knew he wanted these things, but since he wasn't going to get them from me, we should go our separate ways.

At the time, he didn't agree. He said he understood that I had a lot to deal with and I needed space. He was willing to dial things back for the time being. When I said I couldn't make him any guarantees, that I might not be able to see him more than a couple times a month, he said he would take what he could get.

This week he changed his mind. And really, I'm not sad or depressed about that. I liked Bam very much, and I will miss him, but I truly don't have time to be someones girlfriend. The thing that pissed me off was, he called it quits THIS week. Pulled the rug right out from underneath me when I needed him most. And totally out of the blue, I might add.

I was angry the night he did it. We had been talking about mood disorders and how I was very depressed because of what was going on with DQ. But that I was fighting it in order to be there for her. I sent him this message before I signed off and went to bed:

What the fuck is wrong with you? You asked that I explain my personal depression to you and then fucking break up with me. Who does that? And really? In a chat on the internet? If this is some idea of yours to get me to show you how much I need you by fighting for you, I'm sorry. But you may have noticed I'm fighting to keep my child from destroying herself. It can't be all about you right now, but I did warn you. Thank you so much for topping of my VERY fucked up week.

By morning, I was far more calm. I felt as though something was actually taken off my plate. One less thing I have to deal with.

Yesterday morning, DQ's doctor called me. He said that she still needs a lot of work but that since she was not a danger anymore, they can't justify keeping her. He suggested I open a CHINS petition on her. That means, get the courts involved. If she's going to refuse to follow the rules, let the police handle it. They asked that I come pick her up at 5.

Keep in mind, when I took her there, they were firm about coming up with an aftercare plan. They said we would all sit down at the time of discharge and work this out.

When the nurse finally brought her down, it felt a lot like they were throwing her in my lap, with no life line. The nurse had a handful of papers. She was directing me where to sign. I asked about the aftercare sheet.

Me: Wait, can I read this?

Nurse: You should have been involved with coming up with it.

Me: Well I wasn't.

Nurse: They had an discharge session. Weren't you there?

Me: No. No one even told me about it. They just said to come get her.

The nurse looks over the papers confused for a moment. Mumbling something about how I should have signed the paper.

Nurse: Ah, see, DQ signed it.

Me: Well can I read over it first.

Nurse: I'm going to give you copies of everything.

Me: What if I have some questions.

Nurse: I can't answer those for you. You'll have to call her therapist if you have questions.

I signed the papers and we left. DQ was out of the hospital all of 10 minutes before she had a meltdown. She bawled and yelled in the back of my moms car until we got to the house.

Once at my moms house, we got her calm. I sat her down and explained that we were going to try to get through the weekend. I asked that, if she wanted to stay in my home for the weekend she would need to follow and handful of simple rules. She immediately went into a manic state, because she was convinced I was sending her to Juvenile detention.

She spent almost an hour, sitting on the floor in my moms hall absolutely distraught. There was no convincing her that she had control over this situation. She was sure she was going to fail. Once again, we got her calmed down. Me? I was absolutely livid. The hospital gave me no indication as to what I should do in this situation.

Okay, so we're going to go home. We are going to take this one day at a time. But first I have to drop of her script to be filled. And this is where I loose my shit!

The pharmacy can't fill it because the doctor did not get it pre-authorized with the insurance company. I could pay cash for it. $690. Calls to the hospital were of no help. There was nothing they could do because the doctor had gone home for the weekend. I would have to wait until Monday.

The pharmasist was dumb founded by this oversight. I explained that they had stopped her prozak Monday, without weaning her off. And then started her on Abilify. Given her 2 doses and kicked us out the door. The lady tried her best to get in contact with the doctor. When they were uncooperative with her as well she gave me this advice:

Because it's a low dose, and she's only been on it two days, she shouldn't have a physical withdrawal. It is likely that she will have a mood swing. When that happens, take her back to the ER and they will give her the Abilify.

Let me say this; if my child ends up in the ER at any point this weekend, I'm calling a lawyer and I'm going to sue the fuck out of these people. My child is so spun around right now, she doesn't know which way is up. She is confused and scared, and frankly, so am I.